180 AUGUST ON THE ITCHEN. 



open King's way : they know their business 

 and their danger too well for that. 



A three pounder yes, perhaps he was a four 

 pounder. All sorts of foolish thoughts are 

 driven through your mind from sheer exaspera- 

 tion. Visions of the specimen trout of the 

 river set up in a glass case over your office 

 desk with your prowess and skill set out in 

 pounds and ounces for friends to admire, doubt, 

 or envy. 



By the time I had growled over my bad 

 management and sulkily affixed another sedge, 

 I moved up the bank, saw the back fin of a 

 large grayling appear in a shallow and refused 

 to throw for it. To-night trout was my game. 

 A good one might easily be got, though of 

 course nothing approaching one half of that lost 

 five pounder. 



Above the shallow is another deep run under 

 my own bank, so I knelt down where I could 

 obtain a clear view of the twenty yard curve 

 which had so often yielded up its monsters of 

 the deep, determined to wait for something. 

 All sorts of plans were laid as to how I would 

 manage the next fish which was hooked. He 

 should at least bring about the break in open 

 water whatever happened. I would let him 

 pull me in rather than give way a single inch. 



After so long a pause that the water began 

 to ooze through the grass over my knee pad the 

 coveted moment came. A rise ahead, which 

 must be crawled to carefully as there was very 

 little cover. It was a curious rise, recurring at 



